If only
by but a dream
Summary: What if Faye went after Spike in the Real Folk Blues? Would things have turned out differently? (Alternate ending to the series, with spoilers. Rated PG-13 for language. Please R&R!)
1. Got them Cowboy Blues

        **Disclaimer:** No. I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Trust me. If I owned Cowboy Bebop, I'd own Spike Spiegel, and THAT would be incredibly time consuming. In fact, I'd probably never have written this in the first place. Come on now. Do you really think I'd be writing sXf Fan Fiction if I owned him? But enough about me…  
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        _"Do you know a story that goes like this? There once was a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths and was reborn a million times and was owned by various people who he didn't care for. The cat wasn't afraid to die... One day, the cat was a free cat, a stray cat. He met a white female cat, and the two cats spent their days happily together. Years passed, and the white cat died of old age. The tiger-striped cat cried a million times, and then died. It never came back to life..."_   
        Faye knew Spike came back last night. She was awake, tossing and turning, listing for any shred of comfort that he was there, that he had never left, that he was coming back breathing. It had been hours, each passing minute seemed more hopeless than the last. She didn't want him dead. She would rather him be with Julia somewhere- but not dead. His rejection she could handle. His death, she could not.  
She heard the hatch open. He had landed. He walked in the door- and from the sound of things- he was alone. "Good for nothing bastard." She muttered to herself, and allowed herself to seep in the comfort of his presence.         She was asleep before his cries could echo through the ship, filling the small space with the sounds of human despair. Julia loved him, had died loving him. He had lived to find her again- even when it seemed unattainable- it had kept him going. What was there now? Spike buried his head in his hands and shook with sobs, until he too fell asleep.  
        When Faye awoke, Spike was telling Jet the story of the cat that died a million times. "Shit." She knew what he was driving at. She knew exactly what he meant. She threw herself from bed out the door, interrupting the conversation with her screams.  
        "That's a terrible story!" She cried out, turning red in the face. "It's not worth it, just because she's dead." _I'm alive_. She thought to herself. _I need you._  
        Spike looked up solemnly. "You wouldn't understand." His eyes narrowed, readying to throw her a verbal punch in the face-anything- just so she'd stop talking that way. He hated to see her that way. It made him feel like he was letting her down. Like she actually cared about him, like he was hurting her. "A no good whore like you can't know anything about love."  
        "And ignorant bastards like you couldn't possibly know anything about no good whores like me." She turned to leave the room. "For someone who's always told me that the past didn't matter, it seems to matter a lot to you."  
        "Faye, look at me." She turned around, her fists clenched to stop herself from crying. Look at these eyes. One of them is a fake, because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I have been seeing the past in one eye, and the present in the other. I had believed that whatI saw was not all of reality... it was as if I was living in a dream."   
        "Don't tell me that. I don't want to hear it. Go throw your life away. Don't you care what it would do to us?"  
        "I'm not trying to die. I'm trying to wake up." And with that, he left the ship. Faye fell to her knees, sobbing as she heard the swordfish take off. "Bastard!" she screamed into the air. "Bastard!"  
        She ran into Jet's room, pulling a large, hooded, black jacket from his closet and slipping it securely over her shoulders, allowing the hood to fall to her eyes.  
        "What the hell are you doing?" Jet called to her, as she stood with one leg on the yellow couch, loading her glock to capacity and filling her pockets with bullets.  
        "I'm going after him." She looked at Jet, saw the worry and hurt in his eyes as she informed him of her plan. She placed her hand gently on his good shoulder. "At least one of us is coming back. Don't worry. You won't be alone." She smiled softly, and sadly, at him.  
        "I don't know why you'd do this for him." He grumbled.  
        "Neither do I." She steadied her breath, and stepped into the Redtail.   
        It didn't take her long to find him; she just followed the artillery fire and there he was- dodging the bullets or sending his own through the ships that were out to get him. She kept her distance- out of range of his radars or line of vision, and picked off a few of the other ships that he probably couldn't see. She prayed he didn't notice, he would have been angry, made her return to the bebop. But where would he be if she wasn't watching his ass, huh? She had to give him another chance. At life, at happiness, at everything he had been missing out on. She didn't intend to kill Vicious, she knew that Spike would want to do that himself, but she could at least stop Vicious from killing Spike in the meantime.  
        When he arrived at the building, she left the Redtail docked out of sight from the Swordfish, and crept behind him, silently. He had no problems picking off the syndicate minions, and all Faye had to do was, as quietly as possible, step over their bodies and follow him to Vicious. She watched as Shin fell, loyally. So he did have room for others besides Julia in that heart of ice. Maybe Faye would find a place in it someday.  
        _Who am I kidding? _She banished such thoughts from her mind and focused on what she had to do. The elevator stood open, eerily, and she stepped inside and allowed it to take her to the top floor. Her heart was in her mouth. It jingled softly at the top, and Faye, unrecognizable in the large jacket, crept into the room, hiding in the shadows, waiting for Vicious to, indirectly, determine her fate.  
        She watched them switch weapons. Saw the shift in Vicious's eyes as he prepared to strike. She watched his arm tense up, saw his malicious grin, watched him lick his lips. And as if in slow motion, she watched him start to move the katana in the direction of Spike's waist. This was it. She ran with all the speed she could in front of that sword, pushing Spike out of her way, and as he stumbled backward, the blade was pressed into the side of her stomach. She teetered there for a minute, a drop of blood spilling from the open gash in her side, and collapsed facedown on the floor. A single gunshot echoed in the room, and Vicious joined her there, a single noise escaping his throat.  
        Stunned, Spike walked over to the cloaked figure that had jumped in front of a blade for him. She saw the figure's chest rising and falling labouringly, as if every breath was a struggle. He kneeled down on the floor and turned the figure over, to face him. Her chin peeked out of the hood. It was a woman. It had to be. _Julia?_ No, that was impossible. He had watched her die yesterday; watched the color fade from her lips as she whispered her goodbye. But who, if not Julia, would risk her own life at the expense of his?  
        He pulled the hood backward, slowly, watching features appear on the pale face one by one.  
        "God damn it, Faye." He choked on the words in a mix of disbelief and guilt. Her face was the only think in the room that was illuminated; a sliver of moonlight from the window fell gently upon her closed eyes and danced over the subtle movements of her eyelashes. She looked beautiful, in the middle of this dark, cold hell that was full of ugliness and hopelessness. Like a rose, growing in the cracks of a tear-stained sidewalk. He came back to reality. "What the hell were you thinking?" He whispered to her, knowing she wouldn't answer, but hoping that he could maybe answer that himself. What _was_ she thinking? The thoughts of hope that had fluttered into his mind like the first butterfly after a devastating winter, triggered by her angelic fallen figure on the floor, begged him ask that question of himself. "What the hell am _I_ thinking?" He lifted her off the floor and started quietly in search of a hospital. 


	2. Tiny little dots

            **The legal shit**: Nope. Don't own Cowboy Bebop or any of its amazing characters. As much I'd love to own them, I'm only borrowing them for a little piece of literature. Thanks.  
            And thank you so much to all of you lovely people who replied to the first chapter. :D! You filled my creative bubble with joy!   
  
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            He hadn't been to visit her very often, if he'd actually been to visit her at all. He didn't even remember, the past few days were just a blur to him.  All he knew was that Julia was dead, and he should be too. That was supposed to be his happy ending. Well, about as happy as an ending could ever be- especially for Spike. That was the thing about endings- they were never really happy, were they? It was the end. What's so happy about the end of anything? Unless what you were ending was so sad, pathetic and miserable that the end was the happiest part, despite how unhappy it would seem.  
            God damn it.  
              
            The hatch opened and he could hear Jet's footsteps approaching him. He just sat fixated on the screen in front of him, not knowing what he was watching and not even caring, just trying to avoid Jet's glances. He knew that all the pictures on the television screens were composed of tiny little dots of color. He wondered how many there were, formulating theories and equations of how many tiny little dots could fit into one twenty-four inch screen.  
            He knew he didn't care. There could be four or four million, and it would never bring Julia back from the dead, or keep him from feeling Jet's unhappy eyes staring at the back of his head as he tried desperately to focus on those little dots.  
            Little dots that he couldn't even see, little dots that were only a microscopic distraction from the world that was moving to slowly for him.  
              
            "She hasn't woken up yet," Jet growled, but it was more of a hurt growl than an angry one. Like when you step on a dog's tail, and he's trying to put up with you because you didn't know any better, but he has to growl anyway just to let you know it hurt. As if deep down, he wasn't angry, just hurt, and frustrated. "But thanks for asking. I'm sure she'd appreciate your concern." He shook his head in severe disappointment, Spike knew it must be killing Jet to see him do this to her, but there was nothing else for him do. He heard him sigh from his small greenroom, that sigh that makes you want to feel guilty for being such an asshole. Like he stepped on his tail.  
              
            Damn it, he _hated_ dogs.

            He tore his eyes away from the little dots, moving together to form perfect images of some sort of western movie, and buried his head in his hands. How long had he been sitting on this couch? It must have been three days. Faye would probably be waking up soon, and no one would be there to wake up to.   
  
            Serves the wench right.  
  
            He didn't ask for this. He didn't want her to play hero and mess up the one thing he had ever wanted for himself in his whole life.  The end of it, the best end he could think of. He wanted to go out with a bang. He wanted to stop dying every day of his life, and get it over with. He wanted the dream to end, he wanted to wake up. He wanted to finally get some peace and Faye wanted to play savior. All he wanted was a hole in the ground to call home, and what he got was the sickening yellow couch.  
  
            How could she deprive him of his hole? She wouldn't let her. If he had to suffer through this longer than he wanted to, so would she. He got off the couch.

             He leaned against the doorway to Jet's greenroom. "When do you think she'll wake up?"   
  
            He looked up, startled, from pruning the small tree. "They don't know. Could be days, could be months." He frowned. "What's with your sudden interest? She only saved your life."  
  
            "I didn't ask her to." Spike slammed gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, anything in his power to keep from loosing his cool. "She shouldn't have. Why the hell would she do something that selfish?"

            "Selfish?" Jet raised his voice. Now he was definitely angry. "She almost died for you. She got her memory back, Spike. She had a chance this time. She had a chance of really finding herself. She had a chance at being _happy_." He glared at Spike for a minute before he regained his calm and continued. "She almost gave all of that up to save an ungrateful bastard like you."  
  
            "That's bullshit, Jet. She had no reason to do… what she did." He couldn't bring himself to say it. There was no way that he would admit it. He would never admit to himself that Faye Valentine, the heartless shrew, the ice queen, the most cold hearted woman to ever walk the face of the galaxy, had taken a katana to the stomach for him.  
  
            That would be admitting she had a heart.  
  
            He took out a cigarette and lit it carelessly. He just wasn't going to think about it. He held comfort in his lungs for as long as he could, and then slowly let it out. _Well_, he decided_, I'm done thinking about it_. Faye had no heart, and that was the end of the matter.   
  
            "She's right about you." Jet grumbled quietly. "You really are an ignorant bastard."  
  
            Spike inhaled from the cigarette and angrily left the room.


	3. Recluse

** Legalities: **Please excuse Jessica from lawsuits today, as she neither owns nor claims to own any of the characters mentioned below.  
  
**And..!** Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing, it means so much to me. I'm really sorry about how short these updates are, and I've been trying **so hard** to keep them in character. This chapter was particularly hard to write because I wanted there to be a sort of warm moment without them being mushy- **I hope I managed to portray them well**. Keep reviewing! You make me smile! :D  
  
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The anger and frustration turned to apathy after he steadied his nerves. He sat on a bar stool near the hospital Faye was at, a half empty jack and coke at his side. In moderation, the alcohol helped with his thinking. He stirred it with the sword-shaped swizzle stick and watched the liquid swirl around. So he hadn't died. It just must not have been his time to- even someone stepping in front of a sword couldn't change a man's fate. If he was supposed to die, he would have, and what choice did he have? No use trying to change it. No doubt, he'd just drift on the way he always had; hollow and half alive, acting on impulse instead of reason.

But why did Julia have to die? They only had one morning together, after years of being apart. He had craved her touch so much it shook him, in the dark he sometimes thought he could feel her hair brushing against his cheek, or smell her perfume on his pillow. He wondered if that would ever go away- if he ever wanted it to go away. The worst part was knowing that he had touched her again, felt her hair, smelled her perfume, had her body pressed against his in a fleeting moment of happiness. It was as if she crumbled to dust in his arms and he was left with a pile of ashes blowing away in the wind. He could still see her face and the shadows cast on it, and it haunted him. Right now, he just wanted to block it out, flood his nightmares with light so he could finally get some sleep.

The rest of the drink went burning down his throat, and he ordered another.

He had no idea why he went to the hospital when he was finished. Maybe it was because it was close and convenient, a shelter from mild drunkenness. Maybe it was because he wanted familiarity, without being questioned, and Faye was there sleeping quietly. On some level, he knew he wanted her quiet presence to be with him, even if he didn't understand why. Maybe he just felt guilty.

He was almost nervous as he walked into her room; it was dark, illuminated only by the medical instruments casting a soft green glow on Faye's bed. He stood in the doorway for a minute, gazing across the eerie scene, before stepping in.   
  
Her eyelashes fluttered at the sound of footsteps on sterile linoleum. They opened slightly, enough to see a familiar lean, tall figure standing in the patch where the light from the hallway flooded the small room. In the bright light, and her half conscious state of mind, he looked angelic. She wondered if she was dying, and he was only a figment of her imagination sent to take her spirit away. He walked closer, clumsily, his pants swishing over his big feet, and she knew it was better. It was the real thing.

She smiled, not speaking, watching him walk towards a chair on the other side of the room, near the window. The faint light of streetlights below cast shadows on his face as he opened the blinds a single crack. She was sure it looked like something from a movie screen. Everything- from the way he walked into the room bathed in harsh light like something evangelistic, to the way he walked with his back to the blinking green lights that signified mortality, to the way he sat peeking out the window, all sprawled out, with that tormented expression on his face cast in shadows. Spike was just a recluse hero, left to face the fact that the dream he'd been living in was actually reality. She couldn't imagine how that felt.

All she knew was that as he sat there, with his eyes cold and distant and his mouth pulled slightly to the side of his face as though he was trying to solve a riddle, she wanted to comfort him. She could sense his discomfort, his sadness, his emptiness. He looked so vulnerable, and she wasn't used to that. She looked at his distant face and wanted to reach out and touch it, wanted to give him something to hold on to.

But she knew, despite the sorrow she felt for him in her heart, he would push it away. He wouldn't understand why her palm cupped his jaw line; he'd never understand that she cared. She didn't even understand, really, but she was aware of the fact. That ignorant jackass… he'd never realize what was right in front of him. Still half conscious, she quietly called his name.

He looked up from the window. He could hardly make out the outline of Faye's face, but he was sure he'd heard her voice. "Yeah?" he whispered back, still mostly absorbed in his own thoughts and regrets that grew like vines, binding his arms and legs to the past. So she had woken up- that was a good thing. They could finally leave this place, where every glimmer of light reminded him of Julia.

"I was afraid you guys left me here. No one was around when I woke up." She whispered through the darkness. Spike felt almost as if he was talking to himself, he could hardly see the source of the whispers.  
"No. Jet wouldn't let me." He instantly felt stupid. Sometimes he did wish he thought about the words before they left his mouth. Faye had just confessed a fear to him and all he did was ridicule it. Sure, most of the time she was a useless whore, a bundle of trouble, a hot water stealing bitch, a heartless shrew, but right now, she was okay. He still felt guilty- after all, something caused her to risk her life to save his hopeless mess of one.  
"Thanks for caring." The room was silent again. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to ask her why she did it. He wasn't ready to know. "Does it hurt?" She whispered, he could hear her shifting in the bed, he heard the swishing of her legs against the sheets and the mattress pucker under her weight. As she moved, a faint breeze of sterile cotton, sweet sweat, soap, and fruity shampoo landed in his nose. He swallowed hard.  
"Shouldn't I be asking you?" He squinted, trying to make out her face in the darkness.  
"You know what I mean." This time it was barley audible, more like a breath or a sigh than a sentence.   
"Yeah," he responded in agreement and then again in answering. "Yeah."   
"I'm sorry…" Her small voice echoed in sincerity as it bounced off the walls of the small room, and it rang in Spike's ears. She heard her breathing grow even and deep as she returned again to sleep. As soon as she got back on the Bebop, he knew he would be back to hating her. But he also knew that right now, he needed this. He propped his legs up on the window sill and fell asleep to hear her breathing, wondering why they'd never been so close to being friends before.   
  
"Right," he thought to himself, "Because I'm an ignorant bastard and she's a heartless shrew." He almost smiled, and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
